


A Green Gobby

by PeterVincent



Category: Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gay, Gay Sex, Goblins, M/M, Spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeterVincent/pseuds/PeterVincent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold winter's night, Harry Osborn decides to call Peter Parker over to comfort his inner sorrows, but when emotions are high and a Spidey-Sense tingles, all filters are off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Green Gobby

It was a cold night in the Osborn mansion, and Harry was ready for anything but bed. The silent hiss of winter graced the window he stood just inches in front of, his warm breath leaving a foggy mark upon the glass. Harry could see all of New York from here; he could see the Taxi’s swerve past slow motorists to catch any possible customer. Osborn had never been in a cab, only in luxurious limos, extravagant hummers or his Father’s old Rolls Royce. The Royce, which now collected dust in the mansion garage, was probably where Harry spent most of his pitiful childhood. The cold, metallic vehicle was a place what Harry use to despise, but now he longed for the days where he would fear being bullied for showing up in such a posh car, and his Father would hear and threaten to sue the school if these ‘jealous rodents’ do not get expelled immediately. The school would, of course, give in and expel all those who teased him. But in the end that made Harry feel even more like an alien and an outsider.

 

Pete was the only person in the world who seemed to still care for Harry, and all Harry had done was push him away, and focus on Spider-Man. It was then that Harry decided it was finally time to call him, have him over for a drink, and explain things. With that decision, Harry made his way over to the phone, which sat atop the enormous lit fireplace that stretched across about half of the dining room.

 

When Harry stood above his destination he stretched out his hand, and his palm almost hovered over the phone, almost as if he was trying to test its temperature before he touched it. After a few more seconds passed Harry’s now sweaty hand moved not down, but left, to the bottle of Maker’s Mark that resided only a few centimeters from the phone. Screwing the cap off and taking a mouthful of the bitter liquid, Harry wondered why he had been so hesitant to call Peter, and why he instead went to get a drink rather than call his best friend. Harry gritted his pearly white teeth and slammed bottle back on the warm mantelpiece of the fireplace. Harry thought to himself for a while, but could not muster up the courage to ring Pete, so, pacing up and down the room, feeling the warmth of the fireplace tickle his fingers and cheeks, Harry decided that Bernard should do it.

 

It was now almost 10 at night, the comfort of the luxury couch in Harry’s study was wearing thin by the second. Harry tapped his fingers atop some random F. Scott Fitzgerald book that he had browsed to pass the time. As Harry prepared to go for a shower, a dinging of the entrance elevator met his ear. As Harry Osborn turned in delight and excitement, his warm brown eyes met those comforting blues of Peter Parker’s.

 

“You been working out, Pete?”

Harry questioned as he poured another glass of scotch.

“Why? You been checking me out?”

Pete jokingly replied, taking the cool glass off Harry. As Osborn heard this, he recalled slightly. Harry had always had feelings for Pete that were beyond friendship, but he had never spoke about them. Perhaps that is why he couldn’t pick up the telephone and call Pete himself earlier.

“Harry?” Pete whispered, leaning towards him from the couch. Harry was pacing and sweating in front of Peter withdrawing a handkerchief and patting down his perfectly shaped face.

“Harry, you’re not saying anything.”

With no reply, Harry snatched the scotch bottle and drank until his mouth could take no more.

“Harry…What is you trying to tell me? What are you trying to say here?” Pete begged, stepping off of the couch and meeting Harry’s hand on the scotch bottle to stop him from drinking anymore. Harry’s heart began to beat faster and faster the longer Peter’s hand stayed upon his.

“Pete…I…”

And with that, Harry leaned forward and kissed Peter, and their lips locked in a tight bond.

 

“Fuck.” Whispered Peter, pulling back from Harry, his smooth hands shaking.

“I’m not even sure if I want to, I…I don’t even, I…” Peter moaned as he stumbled back onto the couch.

“Peter, I’m sorry. I just guess I’ve always-”

But Harry Osborn didn’t get to finish his sentence, as Peter sprang up from the couch and kissed him again. It was longer, and far sexier than the first time. Peter felt Harry’s hard dick up against him, and he could tell it was chafing Harry’s jeans with every second of erotic tension.

 

Harry was in heaven, he moved his tongue in and it rubbed against Peter’s, and Parker then rubbed back in return. Harry’s hand moved from embracing Peter’s body, and slid down across Pete’s smooth ass, pushing the back of his trousers down. Uncontrollably, Peter’s hand jerked out and shot a web across the room in excitement, and with a splat it smacked onto the wall and carpet.

_I hope Harry doesn’t notice that…_

Peter blissfully thought, enjoying the warmth of Harry’s hand on his cold cheeks. But Parker needn’t worry, as Osborn had only one thing on his mind, one rock hard thing. Harry’s fingers crawled down Peter’s cheeks until they met his asshole, and then Osborn began to fiddle with the small and fleshy hole with his fingertips. Peter’s eyes rolled into their sockets, in complete pleasure, his Spidey-sense was surely tingling.

 

“Mr. Osborn, I’m leaving for the evening.” Bernard’s voice echoed, originating from somewhere near the entrance elevator. Harry and Peter froze in an uncomfortable position, and as they silently and awkwardly waited for the ding of the elevator and the leaving of Bernard, Harry felt a large smile stretch across his face. Peter, seeing this sudden and wicked grin, gave a smile in return, then slowly and gracefully moved down onto his knees and unzipped Harry’s fly.

 

_Time for Gobby’s son to get a gobby._

Thought Peter as he let the remainder of Harry’s jeans to slip and fall of his nice and angled hips and slap onto his polished black shoes. A white pair of boxer shorts was all that remained, and Peter could see the outline of what looked like an enormous snake, or at least what appeared to be.


End file.
